The Keys to the Kingdom
by JollyPirate
Summary: Revised and updated! Sarah's been abducted by an enemy of the Goblin King, and Jareth is losing control of the Labyrinth...can old rivals put aside their differences, or will they find neither of them has really changed? Adventure, eventual J/S
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: Tragically I do not own Sarah, the Labyrinth, the Underground, or Jareth (...'s delicious package, I mean _pants_), or anything else that appeared in the film. I'm fairly convinced that I have unwittingly inherited a couple of goblins, who may or may not be featured in this story, but I refuse to take responsibility for them until they apologize for getting me into this mess.

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**Prologue**

"History" tended to be a somewhat loose and confusing term where goblins were concerned. Given the difficulty with which most goblins learned to read and write, Jareth was sometimes surprised that they took the time to record anything at all. And tonight, not for the first time, he took a moment to think dark thoughts about sorts of events that goblins found important, and their notoriously poor grasp of grammar and the passage of time in general.

The Goblin King sprawled in his chair, surrounded on all sides by precarious piles of the dusty volumes that filled his study. His mismatched eyes seemed to almost glow in his pale face, lit by a ring of torches that guttered lazily around the circular study—apparently of their own accord, since there was no wind to disturb them. He moved very little, but now and then he would snarl in disgust at the book he held, toss it aside, and snatch another from the pile. Somehow the cast-off books never quite seemed to strike the floor. Instead they landed without fail on this pile or that, and the stacks of books leaned dangerously but never toppled; like many places in the Labyrinth, the laws of nature and probability seemed to have lost their grip on the study and its contents. Perhaps they had finally just given up.

Trying to find the scant amount of useful information buried in goblin histories invariably gave Jareth a roaring headache. This one had moved in several hours ago and refused to be placated by the several generous glasses of of faerie wine Jareth had sent its way. Faerie wine was widely known for its ability to clear the mind rather than muddle—but also for the other side effects, which depended on the stars under which the wine was racked, the weather on the day one drank it, the birth date and gender of the brewer, and innumerable other factors that nobody really understood except faeries and that Jareth cared absolutely nothing about. This bottle had made his fingertips tingle and leave traces of silver dust on everything he touched, but it had done nothing at all for the headache.

A tentative knock came on the door of his study. Extremely tentative. There were stories of what happened to goblins who disturbed Jareth in his private rooms, none firsthand. Slowly, as if this disturbance had reminded gravity that it had a job to do, one of the piles of books toppled to one side, disgorging a tiny cloud of dust into the air and disturbing a pixie that was trying to pull out a page from the bottom-most book. It squeaked an unintelligible tirade of pixie epithets and flitted up the wall into the rafters where it perched, shaking its tiny fist down at the Goblin King.

Jareth narrowed his eyes at the interruption, but he was surprisingly relieved to have an excuse to put aside his studies and allow a visitor.

He immediately wished he hadn't. The small, dirty goblin that stumbled into the study, already wringing his tail in his grubby hands, took one look at the Goblin King and burst into tears. Jareth raised an eyebrow slightly, taken aback. Several seconds of goblin howling passed before he was able to find something suitable to say. Words of solace did not come naturally to him. "Come now," he ventured in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "Whatever is the matter with you…" he searched momentarily for a name, "…Ixpix?"

"It was dark and scary and Snurf and Pikpitz got eaten and _I've lost her, Your Majesty!_" wailed the goblin. "Just Bog me now and get it over with!" His twisted tail began to jerk feebly as if trying to escape the wringing it was receiving, while Ixpix rocked back and forth making a high-pitched keening.

The commotion began to attract movement outside the cracked door, which quickly filled with the shadowy shapes of curious goblins falling over themselves trying to catch a look at the excitement without drawing attention. Jareth sneered pointedly into the darkness and there was a brief flurry of thumping and scraping and goblins hissing, "_That's the Bogging look, run!_" in fear that they might be sucked into whatever punishment was about to be meted out. Somebody pulled the heavy door shut with a deep bang that echoed down the castle halls.

Ixpix was still in tears. Jareth rested his forehead on a couple of fingers and sighed down at the little goblin, who appeared to believe he _deserved _to be Bogged and, moreover, that such punishment was somehow more desirable than the alternative. Another time, the Goblin King might actually have been touched to think that his disciplinary efforts had been taken so closely to heart, but at the moment he only wanted the crying to stop.

"Ixpix." Jareth's mild utterance stopped the wailing cold. The goblin hiccuped miserably into the sudden silence, staring up with wide, fearful eyes. "I assure you I shall Bog you immediately if the situation warrants it. Now. What precisely do you mean by _eaten?_" There were very few things in the Underground that could stomach a goblin, and he was not entirely certain he wanted to hear about any of them wandering around in the Labyrinth; there was an extremely serious difference between _eaten_ and _tasted and promptly regurgitated_. "And who," he added, not convinced he wanted to hear the answer, "have you lost?"

It was probably a chicken. Some of the handier goblins, meaning the ones who were slightly less prone to accidentally disintegrating things or setting them on fire, had recently taken to building chicken-chariots—ostensibly for racing, although it was difficult to tell. The resident Labyrinth chickens had proved to be violent objectors to the idea of harnesses, and indeed to organized sport in general. Though, really, calling goblin sport 'organized' was an insult to uncontrolled riots and freak events of severe weather.

"K-King..." The goblin clearly didn't want to say. His eyes drifted across the room, avoiding looking directly at the Goblin King.

Jareth's frown deepened. Goblins tended to forget themselves and call him that only when they had done something _very _wrong. Much worse than anything to do with chickens. "Well? Out with it, Ixpix!" he snapped.

"The…the Lady, K-King. S…S…_Sarah_!" Ixpix bawled, screwing up his face and holding his tail tight in preparation for being dumped in the Bog.

Jareth went very still, more still than was natural for anything mortal. Goblins were not terribly adept at deciphering facial expressions, and this was a trick he had found very effective in communicating his mood without having to breathe a single word. Behind him, the torches stopped flickering, the golden light of the flames suddenly seeming to go a little gray. The temperature in the room immediately dropped several degrees. When the Goblin King went still, the Labyrinth listened.

His words, enunciated very clearly, hung like frost on the air. "What...do you mean…you _lost_ her?"

The little goblin did not seem to quite know what to do with this question. He gulped, then stopped rocking side to side and began to tremble violently instead, looking around as if hoping to find a good answer. Ixpix had been quite prepared for yelling, or Bogging, possibly yelling _while_ Bogging if he was extremely fortunate. This still, dangerous King was even more frightening.

"Well?" demanded the Goblin King, sweeping his arm angrily across the top of the chairside table as he stood up. A silver goblet clattered loudly to the stone floor and rolled to one side, making a puddle of the last of the faerie wine.

Ixpix was shaking so hard he could barely speak. "W…well, Ki—Your M-Majesty, you told us to w-watch her. K…keep her s-safe. And we _did_, we did just what...what you said, every day, but…then _he came and stole her!_"

Jareth crouched down and put a gloved finger under the goblin's trembling chin, pushing up until Ixpix was forced to look him right in the eye. The torches were now almost completely extinguished, but there was a light in the room that had nothing to do with any fire. It was coming from Jareth, from his silvery fingertips and luminous, furious eyes. The goblin blanched visibly, fumbling in such confusion that he lost hold of his tail, which dropped limply to the floor. When Jareth spoke his voice was taut and left no part of his anger to the imagination: "Stop sniveling and listen to me _very_ carefully. I want you to start at the beginning, and I want you to be _very careful _not to leave anything out. _Anything_. Do you understand?"

The goblin nodded and made a petrified effort to get himself under control.

"Now tell me," instructed the Goblin King_,_ _"exactly _what happened."

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**Author's Note:** And here ends our _terribly_ mysterious prologue in which I offer you no clues whatsoever to what has befallen our heroine. Tune in next time for a (slight) jump back in time! Please review if you have a moment, it's completely what makes posting all this craziness worth it.


	2. Chapter One: The Changeling

**Disclaimer**: Sarah, Jareth, and the Labyrinth belong to their original creators. The goblins...well, I tried to keep them out, but they found my bowl of chocolate.

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**Chapter One: The Changeling**

The three goblins on Sarah's apartment balcony were not being particularly stealthy, even for goblins, but they were trying very hard.

"Oof! Get your elbow outta my eye!"

"Well then get your eye outta my elbow!"

"Shut up, shut up, she'll hear us and then the King will find out and dump us in the Bog…"

"Is she even in there?"

"Move over, fatso, I can't see!"

"_You_ move over, you're taller than me."

"Horns don't count!"

"_Shhhhhhh!_"

The goblins elbowed each other and jockeyed to peer furtively through half-drawn curtains, cackling amongst themselves at some private goblin joke.

A few yards above the balcony, hidden in the branches of a giant old maple tree and nearly invisible among the leaves, a silent shadow watched the goblins hungrily. If anyone had been watching they might have seen the shadow twist in on itself, or shivered at a brief, unseasonal chill in the air. They might have seen a pale scrap of moonlight detach from the trees and glide slowly earthward.

The goblins did not.

A storm was coming. Late summer was turning slowly into fall, but the Baltimore night was still humid and fragrant with the smell of salt air. Heat lightning sparked silently between towering clouds over the Chesapeake Bay, and the sounds of the city were punctuated periodically by the melancholy cry of gulls circling overhead as they battled downdrafts from the approaching squall.

The balcony doors in Sarah's bedroom shook fiercely in the wind, and the curtains whipped side to side. The muted sounds of the television in the living room were briefly drowned out by the low growl of thunder.

Sarah listened until it rolled away into silence before swishing her toothpaste around and spitting into the sink. She deposited the toothbrush neatly into its porcelain holder and padded into the hall in her slippers, going to close the windows against the storm, then into the living room to flick off the television and check the mismatched tower of locks and deadbolts on the front door. A lone siren wailed impotently, somewhere in the distance.

For a moment, while the thunder rolled and flickering lightning lit the dark corners of her apartment, she had the feeling of being watched. It was a feeling she had a lot and she'd learned not to let it bother her, but for just a second she allowed herself to admit what it really reminded her of; doors flying open in the wind of another sudden storm, curtains fluttering like wings, long ago...

The thought crossed her mind, as it sometimes did, that this tiny little second story apartment in an ancient brownstone on the corner of two almost-but-not-quite bad neighborhoods was not where she'd expected to end up. Neither was her job (thoroughly unglamorous, junior copyeditor for a minor publishing house) or her relationship status (single, _again_, after the latest in a long string of failed relationships). Not much in Sarah's life had turned out like she'd thought it would.

She flicked off the lights and shuffled back to the bedroom. The smell of rain, with undertones of sea and the sour human smells of a large city, filled the air. She was just reaching for the balcony door when a sharp _crack_ and a bright flash made her startle. Her heart leaped to her throat: there was someone behind the curtains, a tall silhouette edged by lightning and dim moonlight.

The frozen moment of panic lasted as long as it took for racing storm clouds to obscure the moon. The silhouette vanished, proving that there was nothing outside except the shadow of the big oak in the back yard. Sarah relaxed her hands on the broom handle and took a couple of deep breaths, entertaining a brief vision of what would have happened if she'd thrown back the curtains to actually find the Goblin King on her balcony after all this time. She took a moment of pleasure in the idea of beating him over the head with a broom.

Now that she was at the window she could hear a high-pitched keening drifting up from somewhere below. _What is that, a cat? God, it sounds awful._ The muffled sound of pain and fear made something sick-making twist in her gut.

The storm was sweeping in now, rain rapping the roof, fat drops speckling the balcony. The wail below rose to a screeching crescendo; Sarah paused before turning the lock, and slid open one door a little to peer out. The sound cut off sharply, leaving the night in eerie silence except for the rain and the little sounds of wind teasing the curtains to either side of her.

_You're him, aren't you…you're the Goblin King…_

She pushed the thought down fiercely and locked the door with a deep sigh. _Ten years on, Williams, and you're still thinking about that? Get a grip._

She flicked on her bedside light and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, lost in well-worn memories. Whatever magic had thinned the boundary between worlds that night certainly hadn't lasted; she'd seen no more goblins, made no more wishes that even hinted at coming true. For a little while the vanity mirror in her old room had exhibited an occasional tendency to show her things that weren't there, but even that had stopped within a few months.

Lightning struck somewhere nearby; the flash was blinding, the thunderclap instant and bone-shaking. The bedside light brightened briefly and then made a little metallic _pop _and died, along with her alarm clock and the sounds of all the household appliances. Outside, an angry discordant chorus of car alarms drifted up into the night. Sarah muttered a curse and grabbed the broom again, using it and an outstretched arm to feel her way to the bathroom, where she kept a flashlight under the sink. She found it, pushed the switch up and down a couple of times, and sighed. Dead.

When she emerged flashlight-less from the bathroom, there was someone sitting on her bed.

Before she could consciously react she was scrambling behind her and fumbling at the light switch, praying for the power to come back on, as a shadow unfolded itself in slightly less deep shadow. It was about the size and shape of a man, wearing something around its shoulders that swirled and billowed when it stood.

As if on cue, the power came back. She'd found the wrong switch to flip: the bathroom fan was going on and off repeatedly but there was no light. "Get off my bed! Get the hell away from me! I will broom you in the _face!_"

The shadows separated a little better after her eyes had a moment to adjust. This person was wearing some sort of tattered cloak: not the usual choice in clothing for Baltimore in the summer. Or any time, really. _Goblin King, GOBLIN KING_, her inner voice gibbered frantically.

The shadow gave a sharp little chuckle. "I didn't mean to frighten you," he said smoothly, sounding bemused. "I thought you were offering me sanctuary."

"_What?_" Her fingers finally found the correct switch and the bathroom light came on. They both blinked at each other for a moment, Sarah in her rattiest pajama pants and old T-shirt, the man across the room in a long tunic and cloak—or were they a tangle of leaves and a thick drape of Spanish moss? He had a very narrow, attractive face and long limbs, and some sort of ivy woven into his dark hair. Whatever else could be said about the intruder, he was _not_ the Goblin King.

"Sanctuary?" prompted Sarah incredulously, taking the broom handle in both hands now, but the intruder had lost interest in explaining and was staring at her a little vacantly. His eyes gleamed with what she could only interpret as hunger.

Rain pounded against the roof and windows, drowning out the car alarms, until the sound was all that filled her ears. Would anyone even hear her if she screamed? Doubtful, in this weather; Sarah was on her own. She gathered herself up, slipping with unexpected ease into a protective shell of stubborn anger. "_Hey_. Whoever you are and however you got in here, you've got the wrong girl. You should leave. Now," she added helpfully, gesturing with the broom when he didn't show any signs of moving.

The man didn't react other than to meet her eyes with his own, which still somehow seemed to be looking right through her. "Do you know what you are? You don't have any idea, do you?"

The Sarah that lived in the Real World and concerned herself mainly with things like paying the rent, and making sure the laundry was done before she ran out of underwear, drew back and tried to deny any of this was happening. But the Sarah who had once spent thirteen hours in the Labyrinth was waking up almost gleefully and getting her feet under her; this was _her_ apartment, and she'd be damned if some creepy costumed freak was going to barge in and stare at her in her pajamas and start using words like _sanctuary_ as if she should have any idea what he was talking about.

"Look," she began firmly, stepping forward. His head snapped up and he gave her so sharp a look that she stopped as if she'd hit a wall. He leaned toward her slightly and sniffed the air—no, sniffed _her_.

"You're a _mortal?_" The tall stranger held out a slender hand and insistently beckoned her to come closer. "Come here and let me see you."

"_No!_" she snapped, and poked the broom at him. Her brain began babbling that _something was not right _and suddenly didn't want to be one inch closer to this guy, broom or no broom. This was one of the things she'd so carefully packed away with her childhood, a thing that listened in the dark for wishes, waiting to make them come true. But she hadn't wished, not even close to it. It wasn't fair! "_Out_._" _Sarah backed away and edged a few feet to her right; her phone was on the desk. "I'm calling the police."

He fixed bright green eyes on her and, with a smile that was not at all comforting, reached out and grasped the battered wooden broom handle with one hand. Abruptly, impossibly, the entire length of the handle began to sprout new branches. Sarah held on to it in shock for a few seconds until the branches twisted around her hand to pin it down. She wrenched away and stumbled out into the hallway leading to the rest of the dark apartment, slamming the bedroom door shut behind her.

The air out here felt heavy, as if it didn't want to enter her lungs. She leaned up against the door to hold it closed and tried to breathe, listening for sounds from inside the bedroom. Lightning flashed, chased by thunder, and rain roared against the roof. After a little while the rain slacked off and she heard the slow _thump-thump-thump_ of booted feet crossing the floor, the clacking of tumblers turning in the balcony door lock. Then...nothing.

_Did he jump? What the hell _was_ that?_

Sarah pressed her ear against the door, wondering if he was still waiting inside for her. Well, she wasn't going back _that_ way, not even to get to the phone; her elderly landlady had one downstairs, and Sarah could use it to call the police. She told herself this with wavering certainty, even as it sank in that the police would be able to do absolutely nothing about it.

She ran as fast as she could for the living room, sliding a little in her socks when she hit the hardwood floor. Something large and pale fluttered down in front of her like a piece of moonlight that had somehow found its way inside; she startled, then reached up to brush it away,

For one perfect moment the world seemed to hold its breath. The sounds of the storm were very far away, and the features of the room seemed to come into sharp focus. The air—the _air_, it washed over her smelling wild and green, so unlike the scent of the bay breeze that she had to fill her lungs with the unexpected deliciousness. Then the wooden floorboards creaked ominously as if under great stress, and around her the varnished wood of her decades-old apartment floor found unexpected new life, exploding into a tangle of branches and leaves that shot all the way to the ceiling and hemmed her in completely.

The scrap of moonlight was a large, handsome moth with dusky gray wings. As she watched it trembled in midair, changing shape to become the same person—_thing—_she'd just shut into her bedroom. She wanted to scream and run, but the scream wouldn't come and there was nowhere to go. Green eyes peered through the branches at her, unnaturally luminous in the dim light. The hand that she'd raised to brush away the moth were suddenly caught quite tightly in his own.

Anger seethed up like a pot unexpectedly boiling over, and Sarah took hold of it to give her a direction to go. Logic was no good here, but anger—that, she could use. "What is the _matter_ with you? _Let go of me!_"

He ignored her. "No, not a Changeling. And yet you have something of it about you. Taken from your own world, and returned." Now that she looked she could see that the ivy was not woven into his hair at all; it _was_ his hair, or was growing from his skin, and the same delicate traces of green framed his face. A distant dizziness began to rise in her mind. With his eyes still locked on hers the man raised her hand to his lips and licked the skin between her first and second knuckles.

Sarah punched him in the face with her free hand. It wasn't a terribly powerful punch—she was tangled too uncomfortably in the branches to get in much of a swing—but it did the trick; he reeled back, clearly not expecting physical violence. It gave her enough time to start fighting her way out of the tangle of branches, but she was also fighting back the sleepy agreeable feeling that was suddenly creeping over her, and she was losing.

Her thoughts drifted lazily, suspended in pleasant fuzz that tickled at her anger and fear and started to convince her that everything was all right. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his green eyes and a gaze sharp as razors. _Wake up, __Sarah,_ said the half of her brain which was still fighting back (it sounded like Real World Sarah). _He looks like he's about to eat you. _She wrenched herself out of her dizzy reverie long enough to catch him smoothing away a look of surprised anger. With one hand he wiped at an oozing wound where her ring had broken the skin on his face, and straightened with some effort.

"You're a bit more _energetic_ than I was expecting." A tired sigh escaped him. "But, you will be coming with me regardless."

It was so hard to fight off the sleepy feeling of reassurance. The air was heady and seemed to be filled with drifting, distracting lights. "Coming where? Who _are_ you?" she tried to ask, but what came out instead was: "Now? But it's the middle of the night...and I don't even know you..."

Conscious enough to be alarmed at what was going on, she tried without success to keep her knees straight as the branches that had been holding her in parted like a curtain and dumped her into the intruder's arms.

The creature flicked his cloak around Sarah with a smile like the edge of a knife, but Sarah did not see it. In a moment there was no one left in the room, only a tangle of new wood and the sounds of rain pounding against the windows.

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They emerged with a gasp from the nothing between worlds, dropping like stones into the twilit sky of the Underground. Ghislain was briefly disoriented; something had pulled them badly off course, and they plummeted earthward without control. The two goblins he'd managed to catch had hardly made a decent meal; between his desperate snatch for the mortal woman Aboveground and the resulting search for a spot where the boundaries to the Underground were thin, he'd already expended most of their meager magic. For a moment he struggled ineffectually against the twilight sky, then screamed in fury and turned all his will to keeping hold of the mortal woman in his arms, fighting the urge to take flight with dusty moth wings.

It nearly tore him apart to turn their stone-heavy drop upward, outward, until they were skimming along the surface of the power that grasped at them. Magical friction threw green fire from the woman's skin, blazing up until Ghislain—desperately holding on as they blazed across the sky—thought he would be consumed. _The Labyrinth wants her. What is this mortal woman to the goblin kingdom?_ The harder she burned the more he could taste her power. If he was consumed it would be worth it; he would not let the Labyrinth take his prize.

They fell onward, and his grasp slipped a little more, the inexorable pull of the Labyrinth sharpening the angle of their descent. They were over the Wastes now, the barren expanse that marked the southern border of the territory of the Goblin King. They would not make the Grove, but he strained and exhausted the last dregs of his magic to coax them in that direction.

In the end he was not strong enough to hold her. The limp shape of the mortal woman tumbled down into twilight, trailing tiny wisps of green flame until she vanished in darkness. Helpless to slow his fall, Ghislain tumbled on through the sky until the onrushing night finally claimed him.

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**Author's Note: **Now we're all caught up to the prologue, for anybody at home who's trying to play along. Thanks for reading! Please review if you have a chance, I welcome any feedback.


	3. Chapter Two: Falling Stars

**Disclaimer**: Jareth, Sarah, the Labyrinth, and assorted goblins belong to Henson & Co. The chickens absolutely refused to wear any collars, so I don't know about them, and it's probably safer to leave it that way!

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**Author's Note: **I split this chapter off from Chapter 1 because it was just. Getting. Too. Long. Yay!

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**Chapter Two: Falling Stars**

The _crack_ of a single shattering thunderclap rolled across the sky above the Labyrinth. The Goblin King raised his head briefly and looked out his study window; a blazing green streak seared the heavens like a slow-falling comet as it went to ground somewhere beyond the borders of his kingdom. He watched its graceful fall for a moment and considered the implications, then caught the crystal sphere he'd been rolling idly from hand to hand and cast it aside. It clinked once, twice against the walls of the study and clattered away into some shadowed corner.

In the throne room he found the goblins uncommonly quiet, congregating in the green light that shone through the high round window. Eyes wide, they watched it with an unusual degree of focus and the expected amount of excited chatter.

"What is it?"

"A lizard!"

"It's not a lizard."

"Lizards is green…"

"_You're _green!"

"Hee hee, you're a lizard!"

"I'm not a lizard, I'm a goblin!"

"Anyway, lizards don't fly,"

"_Chickens_ fly…"

"I've never seen a green chicken before."

"_I have!_" shouted the goblin with mismatched socks, triumphantly.

The rest of the goblins gasped collectively. "_Where?"_

"In the Bog."

This statement was met with general disappointment. "_Everybody's_ green after they's been in the Bog."

"The next goblin that speaks will be taking an immediate personal trip to the Bog to test that theory," Jareth snapped. Not waiting for the chatter to die down, he pinched the bridge of his nose between a gloved thumb and forefinger, feeling at once tired and furious, and waved his other hand at the goblins without looking. "One of you, go and fetch Zanabrik."

A tiny goblin ran out of the room as quickly as its stubby legs would carry it, scattering chickens in its wake. Jareth scowled and remained beneath the window, watching until the last green light faded and left his kingdom bathed in twilight once again while speculative goblin chatter continued around him. When the sight began to tire him he whirled and punted the nearest goblin out of the way crossly, surveying with visible displeasure the disarray that had subsumed his throne room. Feathers everywhere, pixies in the rafters, and a fine layer of sandy dust that would occasionally pile itself into corners and then spread out again in strange and inscrutable patterns on the floor when nobody was looking.

The chaos irritated Jareth more than usual; wherever his eye fell he found another item to spark his ire. It didn't help that recently it seemed that certain areas of the castle would be clean only when the Labyrinth damn well _wanted_ them to, all cajoling (magical or otherwise) be damned. This was not to say that Jareth had lowered himself to asking the Labyrinth for anything in a very long time. His own powers were not inconsiderable, but even the Labyrinth could not do _everything_ he asked of it.

His thoughts turned unexpectedly bitter at that, for reasons that had nothing to do with the state of his throne room. The last time he had asked the Labyrinth for something it had cost him very dearly, and he had been denied.

A chicken hopped up onto the throne and eyed the Goblin King belligerently, unconscious of his darkening mood. It had a split second to realize the error of its ways before Jareth made a brief sound of rage and banished it to the Bog. "Can't you lot keep your disgusting fowl outside where they belong?" he bellowed at the nearest goblin. It was an old complaint, and the answer mostly turned out to be _no_, since the chickens were often shrewder than any goblin and sometimes even Jareth himself.

The goblin's stammered reply was mercifully interrupted by a disturbance at the throne room entrance, followed by spreading silence that heralded the ponderous approach of a goblin of great and impressive age. He shuffled along with the aid of a twisted cane, stooped and careful as he moved. His faded robes dragged along behind him for yards, and his face was nearly invisible under a combination of deep hood and enormous white eyebrows. The other goblins shuffled eagerly out of the way of their elder; even Jareth accorded a rare degree of respect to his subject, schooling his face to careful mildness and nodding in greeting. "Zanabrik."

"Your Majesty," Zanabrik wheezed, making as much of a bow as he was able underneath his heavy robes. "How may I be of service?"

"Tell me what you make of this." The Goblin King made a tossing motion with one hand and sent a crystal tumbling through the air. The ancient goblin caught it with surprising alacrity and studied it for a long moment, green light shining from the crystal and illuminating his wizened face.

"I cannot say for sure, but it appears to be one of the Exiles with…hmmm…" wrinkles shifted to make way for the goblin's eyebrows to rise curiously as he glanced up, "...something that belongs in the Labyrinth." The old goblin was phrasing his answer carefully. Zanabrik had not reached his advanced age by being a fool.

Jareth appreciated the tact, but not the implications. "How would an Exile acquire such a prize?" Zanabrik looked up at him in mild alarm, having no answer to the impossible question. The Goblin King sighed, waving off the goblin's helpless expression, "Never mind, Zanabrik. Continue."

Zanabrik nodded sagely and returned to studying the crystal. "The Exile has gone to ground beyond the Southern Wastes."

Jareth waved his hand and the crystal burst like a bubble. "Thank you, Zanabrik. That will be all." The elder goblin bowed again and turned to shuffle off with stiff dignity; goblin chatter returned almost instantly.

"What's a nexile?"

"I think it's a kind of lizard."

"Maybe it's a kind of _chicken!_"

Jareth retreated to his study, kicking out an errant squawking bird as he shut the door sharply behind him. The Exiled had been banished from the Labyrinth long before Jareth's time, and while they had always made a habit of causing him plenty of trouble he'd never seen one do anything like _that_.

Zanabrik had confirmed in his circumspect way that the green glow was a sign of the Labyrinth trying—and failing—to take hold of something powerful, something that belonged within its borders. That was disturbing enough without considering where an Exile might have found a way to travel Aboveground. Jareth did not like to consider where it might have gotten something out of the Labyrinth.

The Goblin King paced the room and toyed with his crescent amulet, rubbing it idly between thumb and forefinger while he reached out with the seventh sense that sometimes gave him insight into the Labyrinth's moods. This effort revealed nothing he didn't already know: the Labyrinth was still agitated, as it had been for weeks now. The feeling was like sensing an oncoming storm but not yet being able to see the gathering clouds.

He stopped pacing and once again willed the Labyrinth to show him what spot of trouble was vexing it, hoping it might reveal itself like a festering abscess he could set right. He reached with more force than he ever had before, willing the Labyrinth to _obey him, _and the amulet grew hot in his hand. Then, just as in the past, he suddenly found himself reaching into the deep fog of blankness that meant the Labyrinth either did not know or refused to elucidate.

Jareth resigned himself to attempting to decipher the Labyrinth the hard way, a tedious task he had only undertaken a handful of times before. He selected several battered goblin histories from one of the tall shelves and sighed, already feeling the first signs of a thundering headache coming on.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Who are these Exiles? What's going on with the Labyrinth, and why does it want Sarah back? DUN DUN DUNNNNN!


	4. Chapter Three: Fever Dreams

**Disclaimer:** Only the delightfully wicked sister and brother and the shadow imps are mine. Alas, the rest belongs to Henson!

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**Chapter Three: Fever Dreams**

"_Would you like another cookie, Lancelot?"_

_She is in the park, having tea with her favorite old stuffed animals. Lancelot declines the cookie with typical stuffed-animal indifference; she takes one for herself, but when she tries to take a bite she sees it is not a cookie at all. She holds in her hand a familiar crescent-shaped pendant._

_When she looks up in confusion and finds that Lancelot is gone, his sweet little stitched smile replaced by one much pointier, the world seems to tilt alarmingly. "What's wrong, Sarah?" smirks the Goblin King. "Have I not always done everything you wished?"_

"_I didn't wish…"_

"_Oh, precious thing, you _wanted_."_

"_No!" She hurls the pendant at him and scrambles back clumsily, all tangled up in herself and knocking over the teacups. He catches the pendant easily and holds it up with a mocking smile. "What are you so afraid of, my Sarah? It's a symbol, nothing more."_

_Karen and her father are behind him, looking down at her with disapproval. "Oh Sarah," says her father sadly, "you only _pretended_ to grow up. You shouldn't play with strangers at your age."_

"_You only did it for yourself, didn't you?" asks Toby's plaintive voice. She looks around but cannot find him to ask what he means._

_The Goblin King skewers her with his gaze and says in a singsong voice, "Would you defy me once more? Selfish girls who have such nerve, only get what they deserve!" She has somehow managed to stand up and he has an arm around her waist now; she is furious to discover she is excited by his touch. "I'm so very…_angry_…with you, Sarah," he whispers with relish and a wicked smile, bending down to breathe his words into her ear._

_The whisper of his breath becomes a howling gale; the wind catches her up and hurls her into a sky full of burning stars. They are screaming the high-pitched wail of a dying animal and she screams with them, plummeting towards the ground, as the earth opens to accept her like a hungry mouth._

_

* * *

_

Sarah's tumble through empty air was broken, but only just, by a thick tangle of leafy branches. The impact woke her from the unnatural sleep and she flailed, screaming and only half aware of what was going on, down through several more layers of twisted branches and grasping vines that slowed her fall until she landed on a broad flat something with a thump that completely knocked the wind out of her. She lay there for a minute, gasping for air, until she felt she could try to move.

Bumps and bruises notwithstanding, there wasn't an inch of her skin that didn't hurt as if she'd stood too long next to a roaring fire. She felt around limply, trying to piece together where she was; the surface beneath her was broad and cool, rough to the touch. With some effort she propped herself up ungracefully on what turned out to be a tree branch five or six yards wide and looked around for the man who had taken her from her apartment, but there was no sign of him.

About twenty feet above her was a ragged Sarah-sized hole in a gently curved ceiling of tangled leaves, and torn borders of the puncture dangled down at her accusingly. A little light filtered through here and there, but all Sarah could see to either side were huge arches of branch and vine that described giant cathedral-sized chambers under the canopy. Massive trunks suggested supporting columns and buttresses that spiraled down gracefully into a green shadowy haze far below.

"What the _hell?_" This was clearly not Baltimore. Probably not Earth. Way back in her subconscious, Real World Sarah resigned and settled in for what was probably going to be a long trip in the back seat. "Okay, Williams, sort yourself out and get out of here before he comes back." She stood up creakily and tottered slowly down the branch in the direction where it thickened, looking for anything that might provide a way down.

Above her she heard several little furtive noises of small creatures moving around, and a few leaves clattered down dryly on her head. When she picked one up she found it was dead and blackened as if something had burned it. Everything else in this place was so green and alive that it made the crumbling dead leaf seem frighteningly wrong, and she shuddered involuntarily.

The branch was longer than she'd guessed, uneven and slick enough with patches of some kind of fungus that she had to pick her barefoot way along with great care. The shadows deepened the further she went, and it finally occurred to her that it would be completely dark soon; she didn't have any idea what she would do then.

She was concentrating so hard on keeping her balance and trying to decide where to go from here that she didn't notice when the little squeaks and rustles around her stopped, or when a shadow peeled itself away from the leafy tangle overhead and dropped down silently a few steps behind her. Without warning a huge dark arm reached from behind and pinned Sarah's arm to her sides. A hand settled over her mouth, cutting off her scream. Struggling fiercely, she felt herself pulled backwards off her feet and held a few inches above the branch while many pairs of enormous blue eyes blinked open in the shadows around her.

The owner of the arms spoke in her ear, its voice a deep rumble that was almost a growl. "Well, what little bat is hanging in our tree tonight?"

* * *

The little goblin was still stammering through an explanation of how he'd escaped back to the Underground, but Jareth had stopped listening. Without even looking, he waved a hand savagely and the goblin disappeared mid-word with a wet-sounding _pop_.

_Sarah._

The revelation that she was gone, that she had returned to the Underground but by means of one of the _Exiled, _sent his thoughts scattering in fragments like a shattered mirror, and he could not reassemble them into coherence. Sarah Williams had spoken her right words ten years ago—he had no power over her, here or there. By the rules that governed the Labyrinth he could not have seen her or influenced her in any way, even to save her, yet he felt he should have done something more. Even sending goblins to watch her had been toeing the line of what the The Rules would allow, but he had bent that rule for the better part of a decade, and the Labyrinth had let him.

Jareth was not accustomed to feeling frantic and helpless, and for a moment he couldn't decide what to do. Aboveground he had some influence, but within the Underground his magic could not reach beyond the borders of the Labyrinth. If she was in the Wastes, or beyond, he was helpless to find her through any convenient means.

He paced the dark study like a caged animal, one moment resolved to muster a goblin army and immediately declare war on the Exiled, the next determined to comb every inch of the Underground to find her, Labyrinth be damned. There were favors he might implore, debts he might call in, though he was loath to admit any need for assistance.

Outside the study window the swollen Underground moon was rising, casting a bilious light throughout the room. On any other night Jareth might have reveled in the ascent of the pallid orb, surveying his kingdom by moonlight, but not this evening. Tonight, as the moonlight touched his face, he was overcome by the the urge to run, to escape, to _do something_ to save her. Jareth pulled his cloak around his shoulders and changed, shrugging off the shape of a man to rise into the night on pale wings. He launched himself from the window with a hunting cry and turned his flight south toward the Wastes.

He'd barely made it out over the Labyrinth when the world tipped on its side without warning, like a table upended by a careless goblin. Jareth struggled to remain airborne but plummeted with growing horror toward the yawning chasm that split across the tangled corridors of the maze, a tear in the earth that had not been there moments before. From this height he could see it growing, toppling walls and swallowing hedges and statues in its path, sending ripples of earth-shaking fury through the ground.

Despite his every effort the Goblin King's body shuddered too, as if he was a bell that had been recently struck. His attempted landing ended clumsily in the branches of a peach tree outside a lopsided little cottage. He fought to think through the haze of alarm the Labyrinth was sending insistently at him: he knew this cottage. He knew the peach tree. And, loath as he was to acknowledge the relationship, he knew the hideous little troll that came storming crossly out the door at all the commotion.

Hoggle peered nearsightedly up into the tree, trying to make out what had struck it. "'Ey! You up there, what in th' name of the King's boots is goin' on?"

The knowledge that every passing second carried the mortal woman a little farther from his grasp did not improve Ghislain's mood, and he kept flicking his eyes from side to side nervously while Saberus scolded him.

"What exactly did you think you were doing taking a _mortal_? It's one thing to hunt down goblins and faeries and whatever other scum wanders Aboveground, but this one will be missed. Mortals will ask _questions. _And for the love of the Lady, stop looking so guilty." Saberus crossed her arms and leaned back a little, almost disappearing into the shadows of the enormous trees that loomed over them both. "There's nobody out here to overhear us, Ghislain. Isn't that the point?"

_Come alone_, his message had said. _Tell no one. The prize will be worth your trouble. _Yes, he'd wanted privacy. He also hadn't wanted anyone in the Court to see him like this, disheveled from his struggle with the Labyrinth and unprepared to gracefully explain away his escapade.

Like Ghislain, Saberus had inherited their mother's pale complexion and fine features, which were now drawn into an annoyed little frown. Unlike her brother, she also had their father's talent for tracking prey and had needed no directions to find her brother. She had arrived at the secluded thicket he'd chosen for their meeting within a quarter hour of receiving the message, impatient to find out what he'd felt important enough to call her out of the Grove in such a hurry. Although judging by her dress—close-fitting breeches and hunting tunic—she had probably been waiting for any excuse to escape.

Saberus shifted her weight from one foot to the other and eyed Ghislain crossly when he didn't immediately respond. "So? Did you bring this mortal Underground by mistake? Have you called me here to dispose of her, or to go back Aboveground to collect the prey you failed to capture?"

Ghislain smiled sharply. "No. I called you here for a hunt, little sister. A _real_ hunt, not those miserable goblin morsels. Listen." He described the mortal woman's power to Saberus, carefully omitting certain details about their arrival Underground in favor of claiming that the mortal had put up an unexpected fight and surprised him. After all, there was little sense in demeaning himself unnecessarily.

"And you're just going to..._share_ this prize with me?" Saberus sounded unconvinced. "Or did you expect me to congratulate you on your good fortune?"

He shrugged with carefully schooled nonchalance, watching her face. "It's not good fortune yet. I lost the mortal somewhere over the northern forest, at the edge of the Wastes." There, a little twitch of excitement, quickly smoothed away: she was hiding something from him. "I'm no great tracker, but you, sister dear... That is, if it isn't too much to ask you to leave the Court."

"I see. And while I'm away tracking down your errant mortal, you'll be here—?" She made little attempt to hide her displeasure. There was no question that leaving Court without an official order for a hunt would only hurt whatever plays she had been making to curry political favor in Ghislain's absence. She considered her options, then after a moment appeared to make a decision. "Let me taste her."

With precise, sharp movements of his long fingers, Ghislain obligingly rolled up a sleeve and placed his arm in her outstretched hand. Swift as a bursting touch-me-not, Saberus closed the distance between them and pressed her other hand against his cheek. The area of the twin hand prints blossomed with pain and Ghislain sucked in an angry breath at the attack, but he knew better than to make any sudden moves when his sister had her thorns out.

Saberus lifted Ghislain's captive arm and drew in a long breath at his wrist, tasting the traces of power the mortal woman had left behind. When she'd finished she pulled her thorns back and dropped her hand from his face.

"That was completely unnecessary," Ghislain hissed, stepping back and rubbing his cheek where the feeling of a hundred puncture wounds lingered. Saberus merely shrugged and gestured to the darkened weals marking his skin where magical flame had licked too close.

"The mortal did this to you?"

"It was an unexpected complication. As I told you, she's...quite strong."

"When I return with the mortal you'll share the credit with me, equally," Saberus said after eying him levelly for a long moment. He'd been expecting as much, and responded with a narrow smile.

"Of course. I would be a fool to offer less."

"And I'd be a fool to believe you." Saberus tilted her head and met his eyes thoughtfully. They both knew he would have to share some credit, if she bought in the catch, but he would have ample time to stake his own claim before she returned, and no doubt she had similar designs. They'd known each other too long not to predict a little familial backstabbing when the opportunity was so ripe. "Fine," she said at last. "I'll retrieve your mortal for you, brother." She took half a step back and melted into the deepening night, so swiftly that even Ghislain couldn't follow her. Her voice drifted out of the darkness. "And then we'll discuss what kind of favor you owe _me_."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I hope you guys are enjoying the story!

I feel like I'm doing a lot of "setting up for stuff" at this point (and let's face it, the way I write the chances are high that this chapter will be tweaked a little at some point) but the real action is coming soon. That is, if people suffering sudden attacks out of the darkness, clearly ill-intentioned hunters being summoned to track down errant heroines, or the Labyrinth splitting open for no apparent reason isn't enough action for you! Pardon me while I give an Evil Author Cackle...MUAHAHAHAHA!


	5. Chapter Four: Comfort Zone

**Disclaimer**: We are forever in the debt of Henson, Bowie, & co. for the Labyrinth gang...and for what it's worth, everything else is mine. Even the extremely smelly goblin. Poor little guy.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Comfort Zone**

"Let me _go!_" Sarah's words were muffled by the hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to bite at it, arched her back and aimed an unsuccessful kick behind her. Yips and titters of amusement traveled maddeningly around her, starting with one voice and spreading out in waves. She could hardly see anything—the light had died all at once, but bright blue eyes as big as saucers glowed from all sides. Whatever these were, there were a lot of them.

She finally got the point and stopped struggling. She had to settle for glaring around furiously and breathing hard through her nose.

"Aw, let 'er go," said a disembodied voice. "She's not one of _them_."

Another voice, sounding unimpressed: "Oh, and do you know?"

"Well, she's not fightin' anymore. Look, she's scared."

"I am _not_ scared, I'm _furious_," she mumbled into the hand. In fact she was quite frightened, but she was making a good effort not to show it. She looked around at the numerous pairs of eyes and tried to convey her mood through the force of her glare.

"Put her down, Vic."

She felt a tickle of breath on her ear as the rumbly voice from before said, "All right, there's no place to go except down, so don't you give us any trouble. Otherwise...I'll let you go right over the edge."

After a moment she felt herself gently deposited back on solid footing and the hand and arm unfolded from around her. When she turned to see who had grabbed her she had to look up several inches to meet another pair of giant, softly glowing blue eyes. "Who are you?"

The eyes blinked slowly: their owner seemed unperturbed by her anger, and in no hurry to answer. "Give us your name first, little bat, and we'll see if we like it."

She hesitated, considering making something up, but she was too tired to try to remember a lie. "Sarah."

The eyes tilted a little to one side, as if their owner was peering at her curiously. He made a short little _hmph _and answered gruffly, "Anevic. Now tell us what you're doing in our tree."

"Um. I would feel a lot better if I could see you first. What are you?"

"Ooh, you don't wanna see us. We're shadow imps. Very _fierce_," said one of the voices from before. Another ripple of laughter made its way around.

"And very _big_," added another.

"You'd run away, right off this branch," put in a third. "And it's a looooong way down!"

Sarah turned around a little, taking in the surrounding dome of eyes and thinking about the time an argumentative eight-year-old Toby had threatened to drop her music-box globe off the top stair. If Toby's more difficult preteen years had taught her anything, it was how to win a contest of wills. "Well, I'm too tired to run, guys," she declared, and sat down on the spot. "So I guess you'll just have to show me."

"She asked for it!" crowed the first voice. All the eyes began to glow brighter, their muted blue light taking on a much sharper edge, and she got her first good look at them.

Sarah was completely surrounded by shadow imps; they dangled from vines or clung to the branches above and below her at odd angles, or looked out from shadows that were too deep for the light to penetrate. The creatures bore a strong resemblance to the manic Fireys: pointy faces, large ears, random patches of silky black fur that stuck straight out all over. Where there was not fur the creatures were covered in swirls of pebbly, bright orange skin. At first glance they seemed poorly balanced, with long arms and short legs, wide shoulders and astonishingly slender bodies.

Anevic leaned forward on his large hands, propped up a few feet from her by arms that were twice as long as a human's. He was grinning, displaying a set of exquisitely sharp teeth, and a faint crunching noise drew her attention to the deep grooves he was digging into the branch with the claws at the end of each his long fingers.

"Scared?" he rumbled. Some of the others yipped with mirth, dropping down onto the branch or scrambling down vines to get closer, or in some cases disappearing entirely through some weird trick of light that Sarah couldn't follow. Oddly enough, she _wasn't_ frightened. Those were big claws, not easy to avoid, but she hadn't felt a single one when he was holding her in the air, not even when she'd struggled.

She looked up at him and answered honestly. "No. Should I be?"

His incandescent eyes dimmed a little as they narrowed. "Depends on why you're here, little bat. Time for an answer."

"I fell, from..." she pointed helplessly back along the branch and towards the canopy of leaves, at a loss to describe what might actually be _up _except more tree. "There's a hole somewhere back there."

"We know_ that_," said one of the others. "How'd you get up there? We don't see any wings." Something cold and a little sharp poked unexpectedly at one of her shoulder blades and she shrieked involuntarily, falling over herself to back away without getting too close to the edge of the branch.

"Well I can't fly, if that's what you mean—"

"What're you, then?" asked the one who had poked at her, loping a little closer. "Oversized pixie or summat?"

"No! I'm just _human_. Nothing special." It occurred to her only after the words left her mouth that this confession might have been a mistake, that perhaps she should have pretended to have some mysterious hidden power that these creatures should fear. It seemed to make an impression, though. Several of them were muttering amongst themselves. She caught the words _mortal_ and _Aboveground_.

"You're lying," rumbled Anevic, from behind her. She jumped and looked back around, but he wasn't doing anything more threatening than idly flicking bits of moss out from underneath one of his large claws, which was really quite menacing enough. "Mortals can't come Underground unless somebody _brings_ them. And you smell magic. Try again."

She started to explain, then had second thoughts. _What if they're with him? Have they been looking for me all along? _She looked around again for any way out, and had third thoughts; there was really nowhere to go except down, very fast. _What the hell, Williams—might as well get it over with. _"I _was_ brought. Kidnapped. It was...I don't know who he was but he's the magic one, not me." She quickly described the person who had chased her around her apartment and what he had done to her broom and floor.

She didn't even have a chance to finish before a great mutter of anger rose up from all the shadow imps. Anevic hunched up, looking suddenly furious, and moved up on her so fast she fell back on her butt. She tried to scramble back but all he had to do to stop her was put one hand full of big, sharp claws over her bare foot, ready to stab down. _Oh. I guess there's your answer..._

Anevic loomed over her. "You're with one of _them?_" He did not elaborate on what _them_ meant, but judging by the the continuing unhappy muttering it was clear that the two parties were not on friendly terms.

"Not on purpose! He broke into my apartment and put me to sleep and next thing I knew I was falling through this tree and he was gone. I don't want anything to do with him." She screwed up her courage and looked Anevic in the eye, sliding her foot out from underneath his poised claws to nudge it aside pointedly. "And if you're going to threaten me like that, I don't want anything to do with you either. Show me the way out of this tree and I'll leave."

"Yes," growled Anevic, wrapping a big hand around her leg before she could react and lifting her effortlessly up to dangle upside-down, "you will." Sarah screamed and struggled to no avail as he moved her out over open blackness. "You've brought them here, after we've worked to hold the peace for two years. They'll come looking for you. You've ruined _everything_. You will leave _now_, and here is the way."

And then, without any warning or chance for argument, the shadow imp dropped her.

* * *

The ground beneath Hoggle continued to tremble alarmingly as he squinted up into the peach tree, trying to see what was shaking down the fruit. In the back of his mind he thought he oughta get his priorities straight – it was stupid to be so concerned over the peach tree when the entire Labyrinth was bucking and shaking beneath his feet - but all he could think about was how angry Jareth was going to be if somebody ruined the peaches from _that_ tree.

"Oy! Get down from there, you're bruisin' me crop! Them's the King's peaches!" The dwarf took a few stumbling steps forward and his breath caught in his throat: a pair of familiar boots dangled down from the tree's lowest branch. After a second the Goblin King himself dropped down out of the foliage and loomed above Hoggle, looking much less disheveled than anybody had any right to after landing face-first in a peach tree.

"I must have misheard you, Higpot," hissed Jareth dangerously, flicking a leaf out of his hair. "Upon _whose_ boots did you just presume to swear?"

"Nobody's, yer Majesty...I mean...awww, nuts." Hoggle trailed off unhappily, not sure what the Goblin King wanted to hear. The Labyrinth had stopped shaking now, except for the occasional echoing tremor, but Jareth had an unnatural glow in his eyes, something between rage and despair.

Something extremely _bad_ was going on. Even Hoggle knew the Goblin King wasn't the type to land in anybody's peach tree by mistake. He tried the deepest bow he could manage, hoping to smooth things over and knowing better than to suggest the King was in any kind of unusual state. "So, er, what can I do for ya, yer Majesty?" Then, a little more hesitantly: "What's goin' on with the Labyrinth?"

Jareth's eyes narrowed in the way that usually meant Hoggle had broached the wrong topic. "Never mind the Labyrinth. I have a job for you. It will require a trip; go pack your things." He made a little _shoo_ gesture with one hand.

_A trip? With the Labyrinth in such a state?_ Hoggle's jaw dropped. He had been expecting to be sent in to clean up the mess. It had taken weeks, the last time the Labyrinth had decided to rearrange itself on a large scale. "Huh?"

Jareth clapped his hands together impatiently; suddenly Hoggle was holding an empty rucksack in one hand and his mud-caked pair of gardening boots were on his feet, albeit the wrong feet and with both laces untied. The Goblin King really wasn't joking.

Hoggle gave up trying to argue and trudged unhappily back to his cottage to sort out his footwear and try to collect traveling gear. He didn't duck inside before glancing back uncertainly at Jareth to make sure this wasn't all a big joke at his expense; it didn't seem so, since the Goblin King had conjured a crystal ball and was staring into it intently. Hoggle thought he could see, in the upside-down image, the bridge over the Bog and the tree where Sir Didymus made his home.

By the time he'd finished frantically rummaging through his belongings trying to find what few traveling essentials he could think of (extra handkerchiefs, a few small loaves of bread, a candle and some flint, and a much-abused wool blanket that had until recently been wrapping a misbehaving sunflower that had developed a tendency to bite), Jareth had summoned Didymus. The little knight and his steed were both now prancing around impatiently under the peach tree, their shadowed forms dappled by moonlight.

Damn Didymus, he seemed downright _eager_ to be set some odious task that was likely to involve many uncomfortable hours of travel. He'd probably already had bags packed _just in case_. Of course,the knight had Ambrosius to ride and carry his gear, which was cheating. Hoggle wasn't somebody who enjoyed a brisk walk and he didn't think anybody else ought to either.

"My Liege," Didymus was saying heatedly when Hoggle came back outside, "I implore thee, _please_ impart to me what is of such importance that you would force us to abandon the Labyrinth in its hour of need!"

_Hour of need?_ Hoggle echoed mentally, feeling lost. That was a pretty dramatic was of putting it. Sure, it was always a big pain when the Labyrinth picked up and moved its innards around, but somehow that didn't sound like what Didymus meant.

Jareth glanced at Hoggle as he emerged from the cabin and raised one elegant eyebrow, apparently deciding that he could now answer the agitated knight without having to repeat himself to Hoggle. "Sarah."

Didymus' mouth dropped open and stayed that way.

"Whaddaya mean _Sarah?_" Hoggle demanded, forgetting to be cowed. "Is she all right? I thought you couldn't—"

"I _can't_," snapped Jareth, moving into the full moonlight, which cast his narrow face into stark and disturbing relief. "Which is why I require your immediate and _unquestioning_ obedience. Sarah has been abducted by one of the Exiled and taken somewhere beyond the Wastes. And that news will _not_ be repeated to _anyone_, or I will devise new and heretofore unimagined punishments for you both, is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Didymus at once. Hoggle followed suit, too concerned to be as sullen as he might otherwise have. The Goblin King hadn't so much as mentioned Sarah in years and everybody knew better than to bring the subject up, although there were rumors out of the Goblin City that he was watching her somehow despite what The Rules said. Hearing him speak about her now was like discovering that there was a secret grove of puppies and sunshine hidden somewhere deep in the Labyrinth, and that Jareth held a tea party there every Tuesday.

"Oh yes, and you'll be taking someone else along," Jareth added as if the thought had only just struck him. He waved his hand and the air was immediately filled with the overwhelming stench of Bog.

Hoggle tried desperately to plug his nose, but he couldn't escape the smell even by sticking his head down in his rucksack. Through watery eyes he noticed that Didymus and Ambrosius seemed unperturbed by the scent as usual, even as the plants began to rapidly wilt in a spreading circle around the dripping goblin Jareth's magic had conjured in he middle of Hoggle's carefully manicured front lawn.

The Goblin King addressed his subject with an expression of disgust. "Clean yourself off, Ixpix. You're going to remedy your lapse in judgment. If you succeed, I _may_ consider knocking some time off the rest of your sentence in the Bog."

Ixpix was watery-eyed and clearly too much in shock – either from the Bog, or his sudden removal from it – to form a coherent reply. The goblin wobbled wordlessly in place for a second, then squelched off across the lawn towards the water-butt Hoggle pointed out. _I'm gonna hafta _move _ta get away from th' stench, _thought Hoggle with despair as fresh waves of Bog smell wafted through the air. _My pretty little cottage...rest in smelly peace..._

"'Twould be my _honor_ to rescue the Lady Sarah from whatever evil hath befallen her, Your Majesty!" Didymus proclaimed, striking a gallant pose. "I shall not fail thee!"

"Ya know I'd do anything for Sarah, yer Majesty," Hoggle mumbled through his handkerchief, the enormity of his new orders beginning to sink in. "But...are ya sure I'm the right guy for th' job? I mean, I ain't never been outside the Labyrinth before..."

"_Don't question me, Hoggle!_" Hoggle swallowed the rest of his words with a gulp; when Jareth bothered to actually remember his name, it was Serious Business. Plus, there was this weird silver glow all around the Goblin King that seemed to make him twice as big and dangerous as normal, and as far as Hoggle was concerned that was really saying something. "You two are the only ones Sarah will trust. You will find her and you will return her to the Labyrinth, _whatever it takes_. If you fail, I don't want to see _any_ of you attempting to cross the border back into the Labyrinth. You will _wish_ I had thrown you in the Bog."

"Yes, Your Majesty," answered Didymus in quavering tones, sounding less like the brave knight he usually was and more like someone who was shaken to his very core. Hoggle was inclined to agree; surely this was breaking The Rules. Didymus continued hesitantly, "But...if I might presume to inquire...how are we to find her? Though my nose is quite keen, I humbly admit that even I require some tracks to follow, Sire."

"Oh very well, if you must." The Goblin King looked exasperated but he lifted one hand and a smallish crystal appeared in his palm, glowing faintly green. He muttered over it briefly before tossing it high into the air where it hung for a moment as if frozen at the apex of its journey. Then it shot off across the night sky of its own accord, leaving a faint trail of glittering dust that traced a path among the stars.

When Hoggle, Didymus, and Ixpix looked down from the sky they were no longer standing outside the little cottage in the Labyrinth. The peach tree had been replaced by a gnarled, leafless tangle of branches, the yard under their feet by a weed-patched hilltop. Thankfully, Hoggle noticed, most of the stench had gone as well, and was now mostly localized to the goblin's immediate area. The dwarf took the opportunity to take a few big steps away.

Below the hill stretched the tall outer wall of the Labyrinth, dull gray in the moonlight, and beyond that the seemingly endless maze and the castle beyond the goblin city. _Huh, it looks so _tiny_ way off there. _Hoggle couldn't really see from here, but there seemed to be an odd dark blot spanning some of the turns of the maze. Maybe it was just a trick of the moonlight.

Behind them, when Hoggle turned to look, were the beginnings of the Southern Wastes. A faint green trail still lingered in the star-scattered sky and pointed their way, though the closest end of it was already beginning to fade.

"Aww," grumped the dwarf, shouldering his pack sourly. _"Now _what're we supposed to do? Jareth oughta know I ain't no adventurer."

"Be brave, my friend! We do as we must," answered Didymus resolutely, gathering the reins and turning Ambrosius around to face the Wastes. "We must leave the Labyrinth as His Majesty bade us—and more importantly we must rescue the Lady Sarah."

"Hmph. Well just for the record I'm doin' this fer _Sarah_, not cause Jareth says so." It suddenly occurred to Hoggle that he was about to be as far from the Goblin King and his unpredictable temper as he'd been his whole life. As soon as he completed the though he cringed involuntarily, sure Jareth would show up right there just to punish him for enjoying the idea, but nothing happened. His heart lifted just a tiny bit.

Didymus was practically beside himself at the idea of a real quest, and the Goblin King seemed to be the last thing on his mind. "Verily, brave Hoggle, for sweet Sarah I would travel to the ends of the Underground. And if needs must, so I shall!"

Led by Sir Didymus and Jareth's crystal disappearing into the distance, the four travelers turned their backs on the Labyrinth and set out into the Wastes.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Wow, those shadow imp guys are just _mean!_ I know what's going to happen to Sarah, but I'm not telling you until the next chapter, nyah-nyah. ;)


End file.
